Finally, Some More Bits of Life…

As I was counseling the homeless gentleman I began to realize he was a “bottle is half empty” kind of guy.

Oh, he insisted vehemently that he wasn’t, but I knew better. I had already taken his bottle and drunken half by then.

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While lounging on the porch one summer evening I asked Grandma if she could think of anything more precious than a young mother swaddling her newborn child. She just patted my knee gently, let out a soft smile, and kept rocking in her chair with this far away look in her eyes. Well I knew right then and there the sweaty construction worker across the street had just taken off his shirt.

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Historians have called it a tragedy that the Great Library at Alexandria was destroyed by fire. But let me tell you something they won’t. The real tragedy was the library before the fire. Thousands of years prior to the Dewey Decimal System combined with about a million papyrus scrolls thrown into a musty room? That fire was a blessing my friend.

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If I was a proprietor of an opium den I think I would just sort of casually set out free poppy seed muffins in the kids play area. And if any of the parents came to me and asked, ‘just what the heck I thought I was doing,’ I would say, ‘Oh yeah, like you’re a good parent or something.’

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Probably the biggest complaint from most cavemen book editors had to do with the relentless parade of autobiographies opening with the first time the author went on a hunt with his father and witnessed a dinosaur in full force urination. Poweful, yes. But you see, there’s a building up process here you’re ignoring…it’s about respecting the reader.

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I think one way to pull over a good one on your spouse is to lie about lying to them.

That’s called the truth, baby.

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Imagine the joy of tucking in your first robot child. “But I do not sleep,” it would say. I know, robot child, I know. Just pretend to sleep for me though, ok? “I do not understand, ‘pretend?’” Shhhhhh, you would say, putting your hand over it’s voice register and pulling up the covers. Then, before shutting the door all the way, you look back at those beady eyes staring at you through the darkness and whisper, “You’re replaceable.”

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If aliens ever do come in peace I think the first thing to do is to present them with ‘honorary’ jockstraps to wear on their heads for the duration of their stay.

C’mon, we’re mankind. They’ll turn against us eventually.

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“No animals were harmed during the making of this film.” -Yes, perhaps.

But might not the real abuse lie in our hindering their ability to grow from said adversities?

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People always say that Louie and Marie Pasteur had good chemistry, but I think that’s just the cheese talking.

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I think that fat friends are more loyal than skinny friends.

Because when you’re surrounded by fat friends, there’s a higher probability one of them will take a bullet for you.

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I like to go downtown and set up a stand with a sign that reads, ‘Free cookies for the illiterate.’

Then when someone came up, I would point to a smaller sign that said: ‘We are not in the business of providing free cookies to liars.’

But if they still stood there smiling, I would have to assume that some literate companion of theirs had steered them my way.

So then I would probably just make something up on the spot, like, “Oh, I’m sorry. These signs say the cookies are for “people who can read.”

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The End Is Near.

During the summer my brother and I would survive on icy-pops. You can get them in 500 count boxes. Blue, red, green, orange and purple. We loved them.

They also served as a barometer of how much summer was left. Plenty of blues and reds, you’re doing fine. We’re talking pre 4th of July here man! Relax. Besides, as any fool knows it was the purple/orange ratio you had to look for.

A higher percentage of those devils left and you knew the clock was ticking.

It’s August 28th, and you’re frantically searching through the box for one blue. Just one measly blue! But no, you’re drowning helplessly in a sea of unwanted orange and purples. Listen closer, you can hear a Montgomery Ward’s back-to-school commercial playing in the distance… A nerdy white boy wearing a pair of freshly pressed Bugle Boy Jeans is rapping about getting ‘back to cool’…

Ah, the dreaded orange and purples…

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I’ve found that raising children is a lot like avoiding child support payments and spending the money on a “sure thing” down at the track. In fact, that’s exactly what it’s like.

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The hitchhiker guy looked at me crazy when I requested gas money in exchange for a ride. ‘Fine,’ I said, taking off my shoes, ‘Then I’ll just take the foot massage.’ Well, at that he jumped out of the car like I was some kind of lunatic! As if I was the one sitting there with the good scratchin’ nails!

Posted on August 15, 2006 12:00 AM